


heartbeat

by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes



Series: understanding [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Injury Recovery, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pre-Relationship, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, References to Depression, geralt is doing his best, geralt is trying very hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes/pseuds/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes
Summary: Three heartbeats in the nighttime. Slow breathing. Jaskier is awake. Why is Jaskier awake?Geralt breathes in deep. Jaskier’s scent- a forest after rain, sweet and musky- is shot through with something strange. Too sticky, too sweet, almost. Heavy and cloying in the back of his throat. Hints of iron. But he is quiet on his bedroll, breathing even, heartbeat strong, and so there is nothing for Geralt to do but know that there is something wrong.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: understanding [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603279
Comments: 70
Kudos: 1345





	heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> oh my GOD i did not know what to title this. i am no good with creativity. it's geralt time

Silence in the nighttime. 

Not silence. Geralt can hear three heartbeats, three sets of slow breathing. Roach is asleep, Jaskier is awake, and Geralt is somewhere in between. 

There is something wrong, and he can feel it. Not terribly so- not a monster in the trees, no wolves prowling too close, but something wrong regardless. Not quite as it should be. A piece missing from a board game, lost in a corner. It sets Geralt’s teeth on edge, this persistent _not right_ , a prickle on the back of his neck that he cannot for the life of him figure out. If he can’t figure it out, he can’t fix it. 

Geralt fixes things. That’s what he does. 

Three heartbeats in the nighttime. Slow breathing. Jaskier is awake. Why is Jaskier awake?

Geralt breathes in deep. Jaskier’s scent- a forest after rain, sweet and musky- is shot through with something strange. Too sticky, too sweet, almost. Heavy and cloying in the back of his throat. Hints of iron. But he is quiet on his bedroll, breathing even, heartbeat strong, and so there is nothing for Geralt to do but know that there is something wrong.

-

(He would choose not to worry, if he could. He would prefer for Jaskier to not matter in his mind enough for him to spare a second thought. But it is a useless endeavor, so Jaskier is there, the beating of his heart quick and reassuring as Roach’s. Geralt accepts it in stride- there’s no use in denying it.)

-

There’s nothing wrong with Jaskier when he’s watching, aside from in his scent. The tired slump in his shoulders that should be there- Geralt knows he hasn’t gotten any sleep- is missing. His songs are loud and bawdy and constant as they ever are. He practically springs along behind the two of them. But. 

But. 

A Witcher has his instincts and Geralt’s instincts say: watch out, something’s wrong, something’s _wrong_ \- his instincts say protect, and he doesn’t know what he’s protecting against. It is a frustrating puzzle and he doesn’t ask Jaskier because Jaskier lies as easy as he breathes, for all his sweet honesty. 

It is irritating. 

It is worrying. 

Geralt counts the beat of that heart. 

-

Silence in the little room above the tavern. 

Not silence. There is the beat of two hearts- Geralt and Jaskier. Jaskier is awake and Geralt is awake because Jaskier is awake and that is wrong and he can feel it. He rolls over and there, look, Jaskier is pretending to sleep. But a Witcher has his instincts. 

He thinks: something’s wrong. He thinks: I don’t understand. 

That sweet, heavy scent. Iron tang, rotted body. He smells of a battle, under that fresh forest. Why? 

-

Jaskier is just a bard. 

But Jaskier is more than that. 

-

Poor appetite, like Jaskier can smell the rot in his scent. He pushes things around in his stew, still cheery as ever. Crumbles up his bread with deft, pale fingers. 

Geralt tells him: “Eat your damn supper.” 

“What are you, my mother?” Suddenly defense, suddenly snapping. He doesn’t finish his food. 

Geralt ponders that. 

Other things: he goes to bed later than Geralt and doesn’t always sleep. He plucks at his lute and when he composes, it’s mostly private. Besides that, he is just as himself as always. Chattering and bright and larger than life, like an actor. Heartbeat quick. 

-

Jaskier always insists on coming along when Geralt’s hired to kill things, because how else will he write his songs? It’s stupid. Geralt says he can just tell him what happened and Jaskier says that his retellings lack substance. He’s tried to make the bard stay in his room, but Jaskier just sneaks out and follows him anyways. 

So. 

A purse of gold for a werewolf. Geralt packs meticulously- his silver sword, his potions. He takes the lute out of Jaskier’s hand and tosses it onto his bed, and when he protests Geralt glares until he’s sulked out of the room. 

It’s cold out. Jaskier chatters and Geralt watches his breath steam in the air. The sick note in his scent intensifies a little when Geralt orders him to stay put and continues on his own, but he shouldn’t let that distract him right now so he doesn’t. 

The sun is setting, but it wouldn’t’ve mattered if it was the dead of night with no moon. Geralt is a predator, and he has the eyes of a predator, and he stalks through the forest near silent on the balls of his feet. 

It should be quick. But. The thing is starving and it is desperate, and it doesn’t care when Geralt slashes at it. They go at each other, two hungry beasts, growling and drawing blood, and he doesn’t notice that they’re in the damn clearing until there’s that fucking _smell_. A burst of pain on his arm, Jaskier’s voice ringing out, Jaskier’s _blood_ , hot iron and overwhelming, and then he’s up and swinging and the werewolf’s head rolls away, muzzle dripping red. 

He catches Jaskier before he can sink to the ground, clutching near-desperate at his middle- too slippery, _too_ slippery, too much blood, a gash like a fucking window inside. “You fucking idiot,” he’s snarling, “you fucking fool, Jaskier,” and Jaskier’s eyes are glassy and the rot is gone from his scent. His lips are moving, stained bloody, and Geralt has to strain to hear over both of their pounding heartbeats. 

“I was getting so tired anyway,” Jaskier says, and he closes his eyes and slumps in Geralt’s arms. 

Deadweight, lighter than he should be. His heart faltering. Geralt swings up on Roach, hand tight over Jaskier’s belly to keep his insides _in_ , and races back to the town. 

-

Hot, tight skin peeking out from below the bandages. Jaskier is fever-hot, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, mumbling things under his breath that Geralt shouldn’t hear and cannot stop listening to. He mumbles that he’s fucking _tired_ of it all and Geralt- staunchly at his bedside, even though he has better things to do, theoretically, even though the healer keeps giving him odd looks- hushes him until he goes quiet again.

He looks small in the bed. Everyone looks small to Geralt but Jaskier looks stretched thin, drawn out, breakable as glass. 

Two heartbeats in the room- Geralt’s, slow, steady. Jaskier’s, rabbit-quick. 

-

If he dies, Geralt will move on. He has to.

He will not let him die. 

-

He sits, hulking Witcher by little bard, until Jaskier’s fever breaks. It is good to see him rest, and to hear his heart slow, and to smell that clean forest under sweat-and-fear. Even with its touch of rot. 

-

Jaskier wakes on the fourth day, still weak and warm and living.

Geralt has bathed, now that he doesn’t need his fullest attention, and gone back to get the wolf’s head for the coin that will go half to the healer. He has packed and unpacked and realized, only a little reluctant, that they will stay here in this little town for a little longer.

The worry has not left him. He thinks he knows what’s wrong with Jaskier, pretty much, but it’s not something a Witcher can fix. 

He can help, though. He can try. 

-

Silence in the nighttime. 

Not silence. He hears his heart, and Roach’s, and Jaskier’s. Three sets of breathing. His horse is asleep. His bard is asleep. 

They are not his, but they are _his_ , and the Witcher will keep them safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> i really really..... really really really love geralt. he really is just trying his best. i really love him
> 
> basically layered from geralts point of view!!!! hes like i dont know WHATS WRONG........ and thats fucked up. i love him. for falconeye who said "But damn this must seem like something completely different to Geralt. I’d love to read if he and Jaskier ever finally talk about it!", the second half of which i apparently just. did not read somehow?? but it will Come 
> 
> shoot me a prompt or smth on tumblr at redjewelsforeyes.tumblr.com i will worship the ground you stand on
> 
> i did not edit and i cried while writing half of this and now i am going to take a nap. i hope you guys like it pls leave a comment if u did!!!


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